Page 43 of Nantucket Gala

“Oh, Greta. I feel so stupid.” Sophia reached for the door and unlatched it. “Come in. Quick.”

Greta tucked herself into the stall and pressed herself against the door. Her brow was furrowed. “You were gone for ages. I got worried.”

“Is Francis upset?”

Greta hesitated as though she wasn’t sure how to answer that.

“I mean, did he notice I was gone?”

“He’s really busy, Soph. You know how these men are.”

Sophia took that to mean that Francis barely noticed her at all.

Another sob welled in her throat.

“Greta, I got my period,” she whispered.

Greta pressed the flat of her palm on her forehead. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.”

Sophia’s shoulders shook. Right now, it felt as though she and Greta were the only two women in the world. “I don’t know what to do. I mean, I was pregnant. I told you I was pregnant.”

Greta touched Sophia’s shoulder. “These things happen, honey. It’s so incredibly common. I had a miscarriage between Quentin and Alana. I never talk about it. It was painful, but it didn’t mess anything up for me physically. It was so early that I didn’t even go to the hospital. I’ve always been grateful for that.”

Sophia sniffled. “I got my hopes up, you know?

“I know. It’s always so exciting.” Greta squatted down so that her hands rested on Sophia’s knees. “Do you want to go back to the hotel? Or back home to The Copperfield House with me? Quentin has a cold, and I’m happy to relieve the babysitter. You know I find these Hollywood events tiresome, anyway.”

Sophia shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t go to the hotel. I have to pretend everything is all right.”

Greta nodded. “Okay.”

“Will you stay with me?”

Greta grimaced and nodded.

“The thing is, I don’t have anything. I can’t clean myself up.” Sophia felt even more pathetic.

Greta unclasped her purse and handed Sophia a tampon. Sophia took it and closed her eyes. It felt as though a thousand waves of grief were crashing in on her.

“Like I said,” Greta whispered, “you can try again soon. Alana was born just a year after my miscarriage.”

Sophia wasn’t sure there would be a next time. She felt utterly hopeless.

Back at the table, Sophia and Greta sat across from one another and put on fake, plastic smiles. Bernard, Francis, and another handsome Hollywood director were drinking scotch, and a dance troupe was performing on stage—men and women in tuxedos and ballroom gowns.

Sophia hailed a server and took two glasses, one for her and one for Greta. But when Greta told her she already had a glass, Sophia drank both herself.

Under her breath, Greta said, “Be careful, okay? I know you want to damage yourself right now. But it isn’t worth it.”

Sophia wanted to ask,What’s “worth it” in this life?Instead, she ordered another drink and told Greta not to worry. “I’m just trying to have fun,” she said.

Greta gave her a look that meant she was watching her like a hawk.

“Alana will have all kinds of trouble when she’s a teenager,” Sophia tried to joke, her words slurring together. “She’s already such a pretty little girl.”

Greta didn’t seem keen on talking about her difficult future. It was clear she preferred to live in the here and now. It was a level of practicality Sophia wasn’t sure she’d ever master.

Suddenly, Sophia was out on the dance floor with Francis. She couldn’t remember him asking, nor could she remember agreeing. But now, his arm was around her lower back, andthey whirled too quickly to the sounds of the brass band. It was music from the 1920s that transported her back to a forgotten era. Sophia laughed and let her head loll around. Francis said, “We’re ten thousand away from our goal, Sophia. Look at all these people. They’re jealous of us. They want what we have.” He snorted. “And you’re the prettiest woman in the room. Every eye is upon you.”

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